Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Guys,
Viggo Mortensen has gray hair now. While I’m still under the distinct
impression that all celebrities drink youth-retaining elixir, I have witnessed
with my own eyes the aging of Viggo since LOTR. Why was I checking out Viggo’s
silver fox locks and how is this remotely relevant to my blog? This past Monday,
Viggo kicked off a month long event in NYC—Camus: A Stranger in the City. On that exact day
seventy years ago, Camus made his first and only trip to America, lecturing and
promoting the English translation of his French novel, The Stranger.
Vigo gave a *dramatic reading* of Camus’ speech in the Miller Theatre at
Columbia University. The lecture was wonderful and considering the theatre was
on the shabby side, not much has changed between 3/28/1946 and now. I just
learned about the business term “vig” (lol), so to cement my understanding of
the word, I’ll use it in a sentence: I would have paid several Vig-go
Mortensens to see Camus deliver the speech himself. Also,

In
honor of the event, I decided to read one of Camus’ last works—Exile and the Kingdom*-- a collection of
six short stories that epitomize Camus’ own sense of exile at the time. It was
published in 1957, right in the middle of the Algerian War that ultimately
granted Algeria independence from France. Camus, born in French Algeria, was deeply
affected by the war, evidenced in his correspondence with Jean-Paul Sartre. He
felt conflicted between his fellow Frenchmen and the natives of the land he was
born and raised in. This struggle, compounded by his grappling with absurdist
philosophy, left him confusedly searching for meaning and identity in a
meaningless world. Note: you can learn more about Camus’ absurdism here.

The
characters in his short stories are also attempting to find their place in a
world that is so indifferent to their sufferings.

“The Adulterous Woman” portrays a woman frustrated with the
banality of her life who seeks to expand her existence beyond that of “wife to
her husband”. I love how Camus respects women as thinking entities. I mean, no
duh, but this was the 50’s after all.

“The Renegade” focuses on a missionary who has lost hope in
the ability for good to triumph over evil. He learns this in such a brutal way
that as a reader, I’m forced to question the reign of goodness myself.
Absurdism is considered “amoral”, so it leaves plenty of room for discussion as
to the role of non-mainstream moralities (i.e. rejecting moral absolutism). The
perspective was a tad disorienting, and I think that it takes a few reads to
fully appreciate this one.

"The Silent Man” reiterates that the world is full of
inequalities—there is a vast spectrum of economical, social, and cultural
experiences. And we all end up in the same place: the ground. What better way
to spend your day than read about how your life is largely outside of your control and you try to make the most of it but then you
die #amirite?

“The Guest” depicts a choice that humans have: we can find
freedom in imprisonment by recognizing our absurd fate and trudging onward
nevertheless.

“The Artist at Work” gives us a kind man who grows weary
under the pressures of his community. Creating art gives meaning to his life,
but is his focus on art mutually exclusive with his obligations to his friends
and family? This is my favorite of the bunch, as the main character, Jonas, is
quite likeable and relatable.

“The Growing Stone” reminds me of Heart of Darknessin
its unflinching portrayal of alleged savagery. An educated man is exposed to poverty in
Africa, which leads him to rethink Christian traditions as the standard for
worship.

Taken overall, each story
describes characters who feel like outsiders. They are coming to terms with truths
that abandon them in a world (both physical and metaphysical) that is different
from what they’re accustomed to. They remain in their struggles rather than
rise above them—and that’s a difficult pill to swallow. They must find meaning
and identity on an individual basis. They are “among the most acute
representations of a world without God, of the nature of human condition
without transcendental meaning” (Camus, xv). This is what they’re stuck with,
now how are they going to deal with it?

I’m a sucker for philosophical
fiction and a big fan of Camus himself, but I don’t think it’s his very, very
best, so I award the collection 4 out of 5 camel humps. In my opinion,
Camus’ prose is never gratuitous, but I didn’t appreciate the parallels he made
through description of landscape as much as I would have liked. Be forewarned
that you definitely have to understand Camus’ philosophy and his historical
experiences to really get something from this book. It’s excellent for book
club discussions because there’s always another hidden layer and a deeper
meaning—and I’m still just scratching at the surface.

Wednesday, March 23, 2016

I thought that Amarillo, Texas was
the armpit of America…until I discovered that it spit out George Saunders. Saunders
is the short story guy. His works
have appeared in The New Yorker, GQ, The
Guardian, McSweeney’s, and various other reputable publications. Most
notably, he penned an essay for the “Cultivating Thought” series at Chipotle.
Garbage cans everywhere are crying out for Chipotle’s brown paper bags. Who
cares about E. Coli when you can feed your brain?

Tenth
of December* is a collection of short stories by Saunders. I’ve never intentionally
eschewed the short-story format, but I typically go for a full-blown novel.
Why? Absolutely no good reason. My exposure to books growing up consisted of
lengthy-ish literature, so I simply continued in that trajectory. Shout out to
Nancy Drew and Junie B. Jones.

After this book, I’m born again. A well-done
short story is my new favorite way to start the day! The time investment is
minimal, but the payoff is enormous. Sometimes what an author wants to say doesn’t
require hundreds of pages to convey. In just a few pages, Saunders forces you
to care about the characters and feel some resolution about where they end
up.

A collection of short stories is
even better. Don’t like one of them? Move on to the next. With Saunders, no
skipping is necessary. Here’s a brief description of each piece in Tenth of December. Rather than inform
you of the plot, I’ve summarized what Saunders is getting at to give you a taste of the themes he lays his King Midas
hands on:

Victory Lap: A gump highschooler does something surprisingly
heroic. But was his heroism trumped by another’s?

Sticks: A father uses a strange, unconventional medium to
express his unstable emotions. Is he successfully communicating with anyone?

Puppy: Two women are leading their lives and managing their
households in the best way that they know how. When their worlds collide,
judgment and misunderstanding leads to an unfortunate consequence. Spoiler
alert: it involves a puppy.

Escape from Spiderhead (my aside: YASSS so good): Because of
a grave mistake, a man is forced to become the puppet of a scientific
experiment that blurs the lines between good and evil. To atone for his
wrongdoing, he ends up making the ultimate sacrifice.

Exhortation: The boss of a mysterious company (the work is
never explicitly conveyed to the reader) implores his staff to approach their
work more positively by focusing on the end result rather than the
unpleasantness of the task itself. The memorandum is disturbingly upbeat with a
menacing undertone.

Al Roosten: An unsuccessful middle-aged man has a wounded
pride. He envisions confronting the source of his pain and reinventing himself
accordingly, but the bravery never extends from the confines of his
imagination.

The Semplica Girl Diaries (my aside: YASSS so good): A
middle-class father justifies a morally questionable social norm because it
brings happiness to the people he loves most: his family. Ironically, his
youngest child is the one to resist the trend and challenge his decision. Role
reversal---an age-old question is posed to the parent:

Is something okay just
because everyone is doing it?

Home: A court-martialed marine returns home to a
dysfunctional family. He struggles to figure out how he fits in the life he
left behind.

My Chivalric Fiasco: A man unintentionally witnesses an
unlawful interaction between coworkers. Is standing up for the victim “right”
even if the victim doesn’t want him to?

Tenth of December: A dying man thinks he has “the end” all
figured out…until an ill-prepared little boy messes it all up. The failed plan
forces the old man to reflect on his past and reevaluate his deadly decision.

Still
unconvinced that Saunders is worth reading? I’m not the only one impressed by
his abilities. Time dubbed him one of the 100 most influential people in the world in 2013. Saunders himself has
great faith in what fiction can do for the world and how he can affect people
through his work. He says, “What I really think good writing does: It enlivens
that part of us that actually believes we are in the world, right now, and that
being here somehow matters. It reawakens the reader to the fact and the value
of her own existence” (Saunders, 259). Truly, I feel those vibes in his
writing. I love that he emphasizes the uniqueness and the idiosyncrasies of his
characters, painting them as individuals just like us with feelings not too far
from our own. His method? Simply place an everyday man in a tight spot and see where he ends up.As a whole, I give Tenth of
December 5 out of 5 camel humps. This collection is such an easily
digestible form of literature that it’d be a shame not to check it out
yourself.

Wednesday, March 16, 2016

Konichiwaaaaaaaaatthehell?
Haruki Murakami is a renowned Japanese author, who has written 13 novels,
several essays and short stories, and a memoir. I reviewed his memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, quite favorably, so
I was disappointed to discover that his latest novel Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage* is as insipid
as the title implies. Murakami has a massive fan base; he’s a prolific writer
who touches on arousing and appealing sentiments. Furthermore, readers trust
that he’s consistent. Grant Snider from the New
York Times even created a Murakami-Bingo that acknowledges his thematic tendencies:

But just because I liked one book doesn’t mean I’m going to
drink the Murakami Kool-Aid indiscriminately. He might have previously produced
stellar, prize-winning works, but that doesn’t guarantee 5-hump ratings from
thereon, especially not on a hard-hitting site like this!

CTTAHYOP follows Tsukuru, a 36-year-old engineer
in Tokyo. It’s a story about identity; he must come to terms with abandonment
that he experienced in the past in order to appreciate his current value. He
must bravely confront the answers to age-old questions in order to mature, move
on, and open up to the possibility of a relationship built on intimacy. Initially,
I had no qualms with this plot. I looked forward to exposing the mystery that
shrouded the death of his former friendships. But once Murakami gave that to
me, he didn’t really give me anything more. Picture this: it’s my birthday.
There’s an expectation associated with that day—an anticipation of excitement.
I arrive home after work to find hundreds of friends (all those hundreds of
friends I have) in my apartment, yelling SURPRISE! Then everyone vanishes.
Party over. Why even come over in the first place? That’s what this novel was
for me: I wondered what the secret was….I found out the secret…and then nothing
substantial occurred. Sure, Tsukuru was able to be a normal dude once he put
the past to bed, but that’s not exactly riveting literature. At least at the
end of my failed surprise party there’d be leftover cake.

Unfortunately,
the content-letdown is one of many disappointments. You’d think that after
decades of experience, Murakami would have mastered the art of analogy. CTTAHYOP employs similes that actually
obscure the comparison more often than not. For instance, when Tsukuru
interacts with an inconsequential receptionist, Murakami over-saturates the scene
in needless detail. He writes, “She took Tsukuru’s business card, her whole
face lighting up in a smile, then pushed an extension number on her phone as if
pressing the soft nose of an oversized dog” (Murakami, 153). How is this
remotely helpful? It’s not painting a picture; it’s dragging down the pace. I
don’t need to know how this rando character we’ll never see nor hear from again
is pressing a goddamn button. Also, what is pressing the soft nose of an
oversized dog like? Is it different than an undersized dog? Don’t press dogs’
noses because that’s weird and you don’t know where they’ve been. Unless it’s a
dachshund, in which case, definitely press its nose because it will probably
respond adorably. Obviously this is one nitpicky example, but seriously—the
novel is overrun with unnecessary shit like this.

Even
when the descriptions are logical and informative, they bore me. Check out this
example, where Tsukuru imagines his love interest with another man: “He lay
down on the sofa, images buzzing through his head, when suddenly it felt as if
a sharp needle had stabbed him in the back. A thin, invisible needle. The pain
was minimal, and there was no blood. Probably. Still, it hurt” (Murakami, 282).
Those last two sentences… I die. Describing emotional pain in this jerky,
calculated way does not resonate with me. Is there blood or is there not blood?
You shouldn’t leave needles lying on your couch because then when you’re
hurting internally you won’t know if it’s just that or if you’ve literally been
stabbed while lying in anguish. There are more effective ways to communicate
affective states.

I know
I’m being kind of an asshole, but this is frustrating! How is an author that’s
supposed to be so good giving me this crap? I recognize that this is Eastern
writing and maybe something was lost in translation. But I have always enjoyed
works from that hemisphere so I don’t accept that a cultural clash is the root
problem. This is not the worst book I’ve ever read (ahem, looking at you Naked Lunchand As I Lay Dying). I am
dissatisfied with the story and particularly confused that he spent several chapters
on one character, Haida, and then never brought him up again (Parallel
universe? Maybe? Confused.). Still, I never had the urge to shred the book; so,
Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of
Pilgrimage* earns 2 out of 5 camel humps. This won’t be my last
Murakami book, but I’m definitely more reluctant going forward.

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

Honestly,
I’ve been reluctant to write about this book up until now. I finished Between the World and Me* six months ago
and then triumphantly set it in a “to review” pile on my bookshelf, admitting
that I needed time to digest. As the weeks passed and I picked up other books
instead, I realized that my hesitancy stemmed from a twofold fear: that I would
say the wrong thing and/or that I wouldn’t contribute anything new and valuable
to the subject. If you can’t tell from the picture on my blog, I’m not black.
I’m actually very white and pale, despite my attempts to obscure my skin color
with frequent trips to the tanning bed. I thought, How can a white girl in good conscience review a book in which the male
author writes a letter to his son about the consequences of being a black
American?

Nevertheless, I’ve decided to put
on a brave white face and write my review. In my opinion, convictions are what
differentiate us as human beings. When we feel passionately about something, it
defines us and makes us unique (cue cheesy quote like *If you don’t stand for
something, then you’ll fall for anything*). Of course, empathy plays a factor in
my convictions, but I do believe that passion more naturally flows when I am
directly affected by something. For instance, it’s easier for me to hold a firm
stance on abortion than, say, the death penalty, because I am a young woman who
wants to be intentional about my pregnancy or lack thereof. I have opinions about the death penalty, but
it’s a more remote issue because I won’t ever suffer at its hands (…knock on
wood). Conversely, I’ve refined my position on a woman’s right to choose
because I can palpably understand what it would be like to lose control of my
own body.

By clearly emphasizing the effects
of racism on his physical body, Ta-Nehisi Coates brings readers one step closer
to more fully acknowledging his people’s pain. At the very least, he helps us
envision the hardships that he has faced and continues to face because of the
color of his skin. Throughout the book, Coates repeatedly refers to the
American Dream. Rather than reflecting on the *Dream* in a purely abstract way,
he explains that the “whites’” ability to maintain things like a strong block
association and throw elaborate cookouts for our friends on Memorial Day is a
tangible manifestation of slave labor. Americans think that we are the greatest
nation—that we’re “above” the uncivilized countries and incapable of banality.
Our racist past is just a whoopsies. Well, Coates notes that that’s a pretty
big whoops. Nowadays, people point to policies like Affirmative Action and then
highlight the progress we’ve made over the past century. But Coates rejects the
notion that America has atoned for its brutality towards blacks and asserts that we can never fully atone. He reminds us of the
bodies, saying “Enslavement was not destined to end, and it is wrong to claim
our present circumstance—no matter how improved—as the redemption for the lives
of people who never asked for the post humorous, untouchable glory of dying for
their children” (Coates, 70).

Not to mention, his people are set
up to fail. We impose carefully crafted zoning laws that carve out ghettos,
deprive students of meaningful education, police black youth with a hardened
eye and a baton, etc.…and then frown upon disgraceful “black-on-black crime”.
But, “to yell, ‘black-on-black crime’ is to shoot a man and then shame him for
bleeding” (Coates, 111). Thus, we are a profoundly hypocritical nation without
even realizing it. We are frustrated when blacks use violence in protestation, yet
we are a country “which acquired the land through murder and tamed it under
slavery” (Coates, 32). How can we so confidently affirm the judicial system as
is, smugly spot diversity in the workforce, and proclaim that we provide equal
opportunity schooling when we are actually this oblivious?

As a career writer-journalist,
Ta-Nehisi Coates is a deep thinker. When he miraculously emerged from his
crime-ridden Baltimore neighborhood (Ravens rule) to attend Howard University,
he thought that he should seek what “whites” seek—that he should follow the
path to success traversed by so many Americans before him.Instead, as he studied powerful intellectuals
like Malcolm X, he realized that his duty was to be skeptical of any and every
kind of Dream –the myth should be dispelled, not blindly embraced. The
inescapable facts of America’s past and
present were unsettling to him and he refused to be placated. We see such intensity
in Between the World and Me not only
because Coates feels strongly about the need for this kind of reminder, but
because the stakes are higher now that he’s a father.

In the letter, Coates warns his son
that there will be an inevitable breakdown of his black body. He speaks of the
need to “contort”, transforming his body in very drastic ways in order to fit
the circumstance. Talking to a police officer? Be on guard, concentrate on not
being misconstrued. Talking to a friend? Be wary of how others will perceive
you and pass judgment on your people. He shares, “this need to be always on
guard [is] an unmeasured expenditure of energy, the slow siphoning of the
essence” (Coates, 90). It’s a robbery of time—you might feel like you have only
23 hours in your day because of the exhaustion involved with persistent
guardedness. I wonder if Jack Bauer could accomplish as much as he did with one less hour.

Overall, Coates’ description of his
physical handicaps as a black man in America is well articulated. He clearly
denounces overly-optimistic thinking; this is a problem that endures because we
deny its existence and its not going to go away if we just grit our teeth, close our eyes, and look to a brighter future. As an atheist, he stresses to his son that this black body
is all that he has and thus this problem should be of the utmost concern. He
wants his son to inherit more than just his heredity
traits, so he imparts this wisdom to “awaken the Dreamers” (Coates, 146). Our
conception of whiteness and the lumping of our vast, intricate genealogies into
“white” is not factual; it is a barrier that we erect to uphold the illusion
that we deserve our privileges in comparison to blacks.

This shit is no joke and Coates
conveys that very effectively, earning his book 5 out of 5 camel humps. However, it's important to note that his book is educational in a sweeping, generalizing way rather than a concrete, history-lesson way. He's not giving us a slew of historical facts about institutional racism to put in our back pockets and bring out the next time we get in a heated debate. Instead, he's reminding us of an overarching troubling past and where that leaves him as a human being.
While this medium might not be what you're looking for (i.e. you want that back-pocket jaunt), his message is certainly something that I needed to hear. Additionally, I couldn’t help but
feel enamored by his passionate language and toned writing skills. It’s an
important book that I think everyone should read—and it’s also short (~150
pages), so there’s no excuse. Coates’ voice has been ringing in my ears ever
since I put it down and I hope that I see the world differently now, with
his words in my head. Coates feels like there is a divide between the world as “whites”
know it and the world as he knows it. I might not have any scholarly additions
to offer to the subject of race, but I can play my part in softening the
divide.

*Coates, Ta-Nehisi. Between the World and Me. New York:
Spiegel & Grau, 2015. Print.

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

When Orange is the New Black made its Netflix
debut in 2013, audiences came out in droves. The show has alluring dramatic
features like lesbianism, violence, infidelity, and drugs, all with a comedic
twist. In fact, the program is Netflix’s most watched homegrown show to date. Of
course, behind every great film/television show, there’s usually a great book—and
this one is no exception. It helps that my favorite character from the show
happens to enjoy literature as much as I do:

In 2010,
Piper Kerman published her memoir Orange
is the New Black: My Year in a Woman’s Prison*, which details her
imprisonment in 2005. Like most of my peers, I have a problem with the criminal
justice system…but I do virtually nothing to help change its trajectory because
I’m not personally affected by it. It disgusts me that the U.S. comprises only
5% of the world’s population, yet we house 25% of the world’s prisoners. It
disgusts me that the so-called “War on Drugs” has quadrupled the number of incarcerations
since 1980 without effectively addressing the root problem. It disgusts me that
the current system disproportionally affects African Americans and unabashedly
screws over people in poverty. Get over yourself, government. Here’s a colorful
info-graphic to check out if you don’t already share my disgust: Colorful Info-Graphic

I
appreciate that Piper recognized these appalling trends and used her
circumstances to speak out against them. Unlike her fellow prisoners, Piper was
extraordinarily lucky to have a heavily involved support system with financial
means and upstanding legal counsel. During her incarceration, a friend started
the website www.thepipebomb.com to
help coordinate visits, encourage letters/packages, and express dissatisfaction
and solidarity against the system. Additionally, her friend who owned a
start-up company created a marketing position specifically for her upon her
release. In the camp, Piper saw that most prisoners experienced the exact
opposite. She accurately notes that prison is a place where, “The US government
now puts not only the dangerous but also the inconvenient—people who are
mentally ill, people who are addicts, people who are poor and uneducated and
unskilled” (Kerman, 200). She had resources to keep her afloat during her stint
and to help her when she got out, while many of her fellow inmates went
straight to homeless shelters.

One particularly distributing story
encapsulates how little the government gives a shit. Before release, prisoners
attend a “training day” intended to assist in the transition from jail to
freedom. At the “Housing” seminar, a correction officer babbled on about the necessity
of good insulation in a home. One prisoner expressed that her primary concern
wasn’t roof paneling but finding affordable housing that would accept ex-cons.
The officer’s response? “‘The best way to find an apartment is in the paper, or
there are websites now that you can search’” (Kerman, 251). Ooooh *websites*.
Insightful. Keep in mind that this occurred in 2005--some of the prisoners had
been inside for so long that they’d never seen a computer.

Although
prison is undoubtedly a horrific experience, Piper seemed to make the most of
it and flourish within the walls. For instance, she ended up getting a bangin
bod by running 30 miles a week at roughly a 7 minute pace. On the weekend of
the New York City marathon, she casually ran her own half marathon on the
prison tracks. Clearly, the only thing stopping me from performing like an
Olympic athlete is my own freedom.

Not only
was her physique transformed, but her psyche was as well. She discovered her
own kind of restorative justice, “in which an offender confronts the damage
they have done and tries to make it right to the people they have harmed”
(Kerman, 180). Piper was indicted for a bullshit ten-year-old drug charge, and
in prison she confronted the kinds of people affected by her participation in
heroin dealing. Post-college, she lived a brief life of experimentation with
her exotic, drug-peddling girlfriend, Nora. Although she was aware of Nora’s
antics, she was largely uninvolved. When Nora’s dealing became a huge stress on
their relationship, Piper bailed, shed herself of her past, and embarked on a new,
law-abiding life. When Nora’s enterprise fell apart years later, Piper’s past
caught up with her. It would have been easy for her to deny her wrongdoings and
emphasize how little she resembled the previous Piper; instead, she fully admitted
her mistakes and lamented that she had played a part (however small) in
providing a devastating drug to the community. Prison sucked, but it made her
a better person by forcing her to confront her missteps.

And now… what we’re all waiting
for…how is the show different from the book? Piper Kerman was a beloved inmate
who learned from prison but was not hardened or crushed by it. Piper
Chapman—the show’s version of Pipes—is a narcissistic bitch. The memoir
provides the bare-minimum backbone for the story: an unsuspecting middle-class
white woman gets thrown into jail and interacts with people of different
backgrounds from her. The show heavily extrapolates on that framework, focusing
on the eccentricities of each character and (in later seasons) minimizing
Piper’s involvement in favor of focusing on, frankly, more interesting people.

Additionally, Piper Chapman—unlike
Piper Kerman-- toes the line between being “gay for the stay” and fully
embracing her lesbian side. She is engaged to her fiancé, Larry, but the
relationship is turbulent due to her wandering eye for women. I’ve been on the
straight and narrow sexual path my whole life, but I do know a mediocre Sapphic
joke: *Why was the lesbian sick? Because she wasn’t getting enough vitamin D*.

The biggest discrepancy is her
ex-girlfriend’s involvement. The show’s juiciest drama revolves around the dual
presence of Piper and “Alex” (Netflix’s version of Nora) within the prison.
Naturally, being around her long-gone ex who got her into this whole mess in the
first place is problematic for Piper. But, this addition is not factual; in her
memoir, Piper Kerman explains that she spent only a short time in the same
transition-camp as her ex because they were co-defenders traveling to a trial
for one of the drug kingpins they had both worked under. This interaction was
unpleasant, but it was not the crux of Piper’s experience in jail.

Personally, I’ve been a fan of the
show since the start. I binge-watched the entire first season while sick in bed
the summer after I graduated from college-- I have fond memories of downing
liquid Dayquil (I can’t swallow pills very well, lawlz) while Piper Chapman
wept onscreen. I give the first season 3 out of 5 camel humps (I was
tired of hearing about Piper’s overwrought trials) and the following two seasons 5
out of 5 camel humps (entertaining and enlightening about what it was like
on the inside). The book falls in a cozy place in between, at 4 out of 5
camel humps. I love how Piper weaved cogent explanations of how the system
had failed her friends AND presented an entertaining story about
something most of us will (thankfully) never undergo. At the same time, it wasn’t
the most impressive writing I’ve ever read, and I was often confused by her
vague transitions—it seemed that her stories weren’t as fluid as she had
expected and she’d jump from one topic to another too abruptly. Thus, I
recommend for readers who want perspective on a pressing domestic issue through
the lens of comedy and relative lightheartedness.

* Kerman, Piper. Orange
is the New Black: My Year in a Women’s Prison. New York: Random House,
Inc., 2010. Print.

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Lyndsay West

About Me

I’m a 25 year old lover of reading and writing. I was born and raised in Dallas, Texas, and I graduated from the University of Virginia in 2013. Currently, I live in New York City making my writing mark on the world via freelance work. Other interests include religious studies, philosophy, psychology, dancing, and live music.

Follow my twitter: @humpdayhardback

*Words underlined/highlighted in red are links to websites with more info on the topic.